


Folle

by DaScribbla



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Bottom Lucille, Edith is a Lesbian, F/F, Femslash February, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, and Lucille is a sad bisexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6050968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaScribbla/pseuds/DaScribbla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edith makes a confession after destroying the siblings' original plan, and it turns Lucille's world upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Folle

**Author's Note:**

> For Femslash February. I love these two way too much.

Lucille wore her green silk that evening since it was a special occasion. It was the only new dress she possessed, and even then it was several years behind the fashion. It didn’t fit her quite as well as it had Enola, but it matched the shape of her own body neatly enough. She rarely wore it, favoring her older dresses, but as special occasions go, this was particularly important.

Important because, by the end of the night, her brother would be engaged. Again.

Easing the final pin into her hair, she turned from the vanity mirror to look at Thomas, who was in the process of tying his cravat and smiled. Her brother’s eyes flicked upwards and caught her looking.

“You look lovely,” he said. Lucille’s skirts rustled as she stood and finished his cravat for him. 

“As do you.” She allowed her hands to linger on his chest. “She’d be mad to refuse you.”

 

Candlelight glinted off the crystal glasses and shone off the silver scrolling of the cutlery, laid neatly on the white linen. Beside her sat her brother, seated at Mr. Cushing’s left. On his other side, diagonal to Lucille, was Cushing’s daughter. The light from the candles made every part of her glow, from the burnished blonde of her hair to her ivory silk bodice, to the curves of soft flesh just visible above. Lucille caught herself and delicately shifted her gaze to her newly-placed dessert plate. A cake of some sort, trimmed in almonds and sugar. She’d have to choke it down as best she could.

There was a gentle pinging sound as Cushing tapped his fork against his glass. About a dozen faces turned to look at the head of the table, the sounds of laughter and conversation slowing and dying.

“Friends,” he said, “I’d like to thank you all for another excellent dinner party. I’m afraid, however, this gathering must be touched with some sadness. The Sharpes will be sailing back to England the day after tomorrow.” The rest of the party made a few sounds of disappointment; Lucille wondered privately how sincere they were. “Mr. Sharpe, if you’d like to say a few words?”

Beside her, Thomas stood, his chair scraping a little on the polished floor. Feeling it awkward if she looked up at him, Lucille instead focused her attentions on the glass candelabra in front of her and, past that, the old man’s daughter. Edith. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, when I first came to America, I was not at all sure of what I would find.” Her brother had that wry tone he used in humor. “According to most English accounts, your country is a heathen place filled with every manner of radical and deviant. You can imagine my relief when I discovered that the opposite was indeed true.” 

Lucille half-smiled along with the murmur of laughter around the table. She admired her brother’s wit, and often wished she herself possessed it. Edith was smiling too, the apples of her cheeks lush and perfect. 

“Here, I found true friends. Mr. Cushing, I daresay I look on you as one might a father. And you see --” Thomas paused. “I believe that -- there is no need to mourn tonight because…” When next he spoke, he looked neither at the party nor at Cushing. “Edith. The happiest moments of my stay here have been spent in your company. And as of now, there is something -- something I would like to...”

Their audience watched with bated breath. Every romantic impulse in their bodies told them what was coming. Lucille closed her eyes and fought the urge to mouth the words with him as she had when he’d practiced them in the mirror before they’d left the hotel. Always so determined to get things right.

“Edith. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Silence rang around the dining room. Even the servants in the background had paused, waiting for the response that was surely coming.

But Edith just stared at him, her mouth opening and closing.

“I -- I -- Mr. Sharpe, I don’t -- you’ve --” 

At the other end of the table, Mrs. McMichael leaned over to whisper something to her daughter and Lucille resisted the sudden desire to slap her. 

“I -- I don’t know that --”

Abruptly, Edith pushed back her chair and ran from the dining room, her skirt trailing behind her. Thomas stood there, dumbfounded, amidst the murmuring that now circulated the table. Cushing rose from his chair and went after his daughter, concern etched on his face, and Lucille wondered briefly what it was like to have a father that felt one’s pain as his own. 

The guests stared at one another, unsure of what to do without either of their hosts. Slowly, Thomas sat down again, his cheeks flushing red. Beneath the table, Lucille twisted their hands together, giving him silent reassurance. But even her mind was turning over the implications of her non-answer. What if she had somehow discovered their plot? The idea was ridiculous, impossible, but the thought would not leave her alone. There could be no peace of mind for the guilty.

“I shouldn’t worry, Baron,” said one of Cushing’s associates. “The man is probably talking some sense into her as we speak.”

Thomas gave him a quick smile. Estranged from all society for so long, he found the world of male entitlement challenging to navigate. It had burdened him with a shyness that not even several years at boarding school could erase. Lucille ached to comfort him as she would in private -- but her mind was also pulled in the direction of the parlor door, where Edith had vanished, ghost-like.

Conversation slowly came back to life in shuddering starts in an attempt to gloss over the earlier sticky moment. A rustle of taffeta and an expensive scent made Lucille turn to find Mrs. McMichael standing behind them. Lucille quickly released her hold on her brother’s fingers.

“I hope you are not too offended, Baron,” the woman said, baring her teeth in a smile. “Edith has always been a rather _radical_ child.” The nod to his earlier speech couldn’t have been more obvious. “To be perfectly frank,” she added, this time in a lower tone, “ I highly doubt that the girl will ever marry. Some girls are determined to die a spinster, it seems.”

Some throbbing part of Lucille’s brain -- one that had been beaten, scolded, and thrown naked into freezing water -- awoke. No matter what their designs on the Cushing girl were, she couldn’t allow this prying shark of a woman malign her in that way.

“Perhaps one should not be so quick to judge, Mrs. McMichael,” she said softly. “After all, there is no harm in being merely discerning, is there?”

“Were you a mother, Miss Sharpe, you would feel differently.”

Mrs. McMichael swept on. Lucille immediately turned away and took a sip of her champagne to combat the lump that had just forced its way into her throat. Now it was Thomas’ turn to reach for her hand beneath the table and provide her with wordless comfort. Who was comforting Edith, she wondered? Her father? Or was he reprimanding her for her behavior?

As if conjured by her thoughts, Cushing appeared in the doorway. All conversation ceased. 

“I apologize for this,” he said, and Lucille noticed that Edith was not with him. “Please continue with your evening,” he added needlessly. Many people had already started into dessert or, like Lucille, their champagne. Cushing made his way to Thomas, effortlessly cutting through inquiries as to Edith’s well-being. 

“I’m terribly sorry for all of this,” he said when he reached Thomas and herself. “I believe that my daughter is a little overwhelmed. To be fair, so were we all,” he added, not quite under his breath. “In any case, she doesn’t want to talk to me. Best to leave her to herself, I think.”

“Perhaps I could talk to her?”

Two sets of male eyes shifted to Lucille -- one incredulous, the other skeptical. 

“I think that she may appreciate a feminine ear,” she explained. Cushing made a surrendering gesture. 

“If you think it may speed her to a decision,” he murmured. In response, Lucille rose from her seat, green silk catching the light, and swept from the dining room, ignoring the eyes on her and the increase in murmuring.

 

Edith wasn’t difficult to find. The girl lay curled up on one of the chaises in the parlor, staring up at the ceiling with a deep furrow in her brow. Lucille looked up at the ceiling, taking in the white blankness of it.

“Looking for stars?” she asked. Edith suddenly seemed to notice her and quickly sat up, taking her feet off the couch. 

“Just… thinking.”

“About what my brother asked?”

Edith hesitated and then nodded. Lucille picked up her skirts and sat down beside her, her black and green skirts spilling over the pale blue upholstery. 

“Do you not like him?” she suggested.

“Oh no, it’s not that!” Edith said quickly. “I like him very much. It’s just… not enough.”

“To marry him, you mean?” She couldn’t help the stab of anger and defensiveness for her brother. What about him wasn’t good enough?

“Well -- yes.”

There was silence. Lucille studied Edith’s face as she stared at her hands, clasped in her lap. Confused. Conflicted. Regretful? She couldn’t tell that from looks alone.

“Do you and Doctor McMichael have an understanding?” It was unlikely, but one never knew. They did seem terribly fond of each other, the doctor of Edith especially. But the girl shook her head.

“No, it’s nothing like that. There aren’t any -- that is to say --” Edith stopped, ostensibly to run throw her thoughts. “It’s simply that… I don’t mean to offend your or your brother. But I do not believe I could attach myself to him. Or any man, really.” She bit her lip, watching Lucille warily as if expecting to be attacked. But Lucille merely sat back against the chaise, cocking her head to one side. “It’s no fault of your brother. This is entirely me.”

Lucille studied her face for a moment. 

“I think,” she said, “that I begin to understand.”

“I doubt that,” Edith turned her clear blue gaze on her. “Unless you yourself know what this sort of thing is like.”

Lucille pressed her lips together in a small smile, smoothing her skirts thoughtfully.

“I imagine you had very strong friendships as a girl,” she said. A pause.

“I did.” Edith blew air from her nose in a kind of mirthless laugh. “Perhaps you understand better than I thought.”

Of course, she had playmates. A pretty girl like her would never want for companions. And suitors for her affections when she grew older and that little girl skinniness melted into curves. Suitors who would be rejected. Perhaps that was why Dr. McMichael always had such a wistful expression.

Jealousy rose within her, at the inequality of who they had been. Edith never felt that terror when someone who was not her brother touched her. She could speak in languages other than the defensive, the cruel. She would have discovered her longings in the natural way, not walled in an asylum. She could show her true self to the room at large.

And yet… not quite. Some things she couldn’t show. 

Lucille’s lips curved into a smile.

“I do.”

“You know, it’s almost shameful,” Edith whispered. “I kept meeting with him -- your brother -- but… it’s not always my intention. If you know what I mean?” Lucille didn’t, but said nothing. She stood up and began to pace back and forth, skirts sweeping in a soothing rhythm. “I don’t think I can marry him,” she said finally. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt him. It’s just that… I can’t love him the way he wants.” Her voice broke and she quickly turned away, covering her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook. “I tried to deny it. I swear I did. I wanted to convince myself that I did. But every day… there was just nothing.”

Lucille rose from the chaise and went around to her, taking her hands from her face. The vision was incongruous, her elegantly coiffed hair and ornate gown coupled with her blotched face and red eyes. Lifting her hands, Lucille gently chased the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips. 

“Don’t hide from yourself,” she said. The floral scent of Edith’s perfume was enchanting. “There’s no point in it. The truth will out.”

Perhaps she was saying it for her own benefit as well as Edith’s. How long would they be able to keep up this charade? 

“Thank you,” said Edith. She sounded taken aback. “I -- I admit, I thought you didn’t like me.” Her eyes flicked from Lucille’s face to the floor.

“I’m not good at interaction. I’m afraid I treat everyone like an enemy.” Lucille was amazed how easily the smile came to her lips. “I don’t hate you.” What was even more amazing was that she wasn’t lying. 

“Not even now that I’ve turned down Thomas?”

“No. I don’t hate you, Edith.”

She caught a stray lock of blonde hair in her fingers and tucked it behind her ear. Edith closed her her eyes and suddenly buried her head in Lucille’s shoulder. Lucille, taken aback by the sudden contact, froze for a moment and then tentatively wrapped her arms around her.

“I’m so sorry,” Edith murmured, muffled by Lucille’s dress. “I don’t know how I’ll tell him. I don’t think I can look at him.” She was crying again. “I wish we could simply discard marriage as a whole and simply live as we want. That would make our lives so much easier, wouldn’t it?”

“Would you like me to break it to him?” Lucille asked. She was stroking her back now without even thinking about it. “I think you’ve suffered enough for tonight.”

Edith pulled away to look up at her, eyes glimmering. 

“You would do that?”

“If it’s what you want.”

She hesitated, weighing the possibilities. Silently, Lucille urged her to take the offer. It would be easier for them all. And then she and Thomas could immediately plan what to do instead. Find a place to go next and find another rose to cut. 

“If you could… I’d be… very grateful,” Edith said finally and Lucille internally sighed in relief. 

“I will.” 

Her hands hadn’t left her, and Edith’s own hands rested on Lucille’s upper arms, pale against the dark silk. As if suddenly realizing this, Edith pulled away and wiped roughly at her eyes. 

“I have to look presentable,” she muttered. “I can’t let them see that I’ve been --”

“Do you want my advice?” 

It was rude to interrupt, but if she hadn’t, Edith would likely have burst into another flood of tears. 

“Yes?”

“Don’t come back. I’ll say you’re feeling unwell. You go to bed. If you don’t mind my saying,” she added, smiling a little, “I think you need rest.” At Edith’s hesitation, she added, “Come on. I’ll help you.”

 

Edith’s bedroom was cozy, lit with a deep golden light from various lamps on the vanity and the dresser. The curtains were heavy and a pale olive color, echoing the colors in the blanket that covered her bed. Behind the Japanese screen that stood in the corner, Edith slipped into her nightdress. Lucille saw flashes of her hands above the edge as she lifted her arms. 

“How do you feel?” Lucille asked when Edith came around, adjusting the hang of the dress. 

“Tired,” she said, not meeting her eyes. She went to the dresser and unpinned her hair with a practiced speed. Soft blonde curls tumbled around her shoulders. 

“Here. Let me do that,” Lucille said as Edith picked up her hairbrush from the dresser. She didn’t know what possessed her. Obediently, Edith handed the pearl-backed hairbrush to her and turned around allowing her to run the brush through the girl’s hair, curls catching the lamplight. Outside, a carriage rattled into the distance. She wondered if the guests had finally lost their patience and decided to leave.

The water that Edith had splashed on her face earlier had not weakened the scent of her perfume. It was especially strong in her hair and Lucille found herself leaning in to get a better taste of it.

“Thank you,” said Edith suddenly. “You’ve been very kind to me. Especially for someone who just saw her brother rejected.”

“I’m not usually kind,” said Lucille. “I think you have a calming effect on me.”

She was oppressively close. Another step and Lucille would be flush against her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw their reflection in the mirror -- Edith standing still, eyes closed, and herself with the brush, flushed. She hadn’t noticed the heat in her cheeks. Prayed that Edith hadn’t either.

There weren’t many tangles to work from her hair. On impulse, she began braiding it, smoothing every stray hair as she went. 

This girl. So clever, so well-read, so innocent without being unknowledgeable. She’d thought ever since she could think that trust was the sign of a weak mind, but Edith defied that. She spun and danced her way through life, glowing like the painted ladies Lucille had in her butterfly collection at home. 

Home. Home was far, far away. A place she suddenly didn’t want to return to. Home would never be this warm. Home would never have Edith. A trick of fate had seen to that. 

The sudden urge to possess rose up within her. Was this desire? To long for something so desperately that the thought of ever continuing as before seemed impossible?

She wound a strand of hair around the final knot of the braid to secure it and placed her hands on Edith’s shoulders.

“Done.”

“Thank you.” Edith pulled the braid over her shoulder to admire it. “My mother used to do this for me.”

“It was nothing. Anything else?” Lucille asked. Edith laughed. 

“Nothing, thank you. You’ve been such a help already. You go on down. But wait --”

Lucille turned to look back at Edith, one hand resting on the cool metal door knob.

“Yes?”

Edith bit her lip and stepped closer. The movement was so mesmerizing Lucille almost missed what was said next.

“When I met Thomas in the parks and at dinners and so on --” The girl’s hands clenched and unclenched, and she spoke in starts, rushes. “-- it wasn’t always for his sake.” She was staring into her with such a desperate intensity that Lucille had to break it by looking away. “Do you understand?”

“Well -- no.”

“When I walked there, it was in the hope that I would meet someone. Someone in particular.” Lucille was startled into looking at her again when Edith lay a hand on her forearm. “I’ve felt since I first saw you that --” Edith began again. “When I first saw you that night at the gala, I knew I wanted to know you better. And every word we’ve exchanged since then has only strengthened that feeling. You’re the most captivating person I’ve ever met.”

Lucille might as well have been stabbed; the shock she felt was completely the same. 

“You cannot mean that,” she murmured. “You wouldn’t like me if you knew me.”

“Lucille…” Suddenly, Edith had taken her hand. “Just tell if you if you feel the same way.”

“Edith, we leave for London the day after tomorrow -- this isn’t a good --” Lucille broke off, taking in the other girl’s face. “When I met you,” she said, falling at last, “you were the loveliest thing I’d seen. I envied my brother.”

Before she could say any more, before Edith could reply, she disentangled their hands and fled the bedroom.

 

Thomas was waiting for her downstairs.

“Well?” he whispered. Lucille shook her head. 

“I shouldn’t try to press matters if I were you,” she said. “There’s no chance.”

She said nothing more until they were safely ensconced in their carriage and being driven back to their hotel.

“What happened?” asked Thomas in an undertone, as if the driver were able to hear them from outside and over the sound of traffic. “I thought we had her.”

“It’s almost funny,” Lucille said, pulling idly at the trim of the neckline of her gown. She didn’t miss how Thomas latched onto the movement, eyes glittering in the semidarkness. “She’s not… interested.” Thomas’ brow furrowed.

“Not interested?”

“Not in anything _you_ have to offer. You see?” 

Thomas frowned and then the light dawned.

“I see.”

She didn’t add what Edith had told her just before she left. She’d keep that for herself, a small memento to keep. Just that knowledge that she had been desirable and worthy of wanting. Wanting, if not loving.

“What do we do now?” Thomas asked.

“We do nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“What _can_ we do?” Lucille sat back against the leather upholstery and sighed. “She’s no use to us now.”

_I was beautiful for once. She looked at me and she saw something to desire._

Perhaps Thomas noticed her look of wistfulness or heard it in her sigh.

“Lucille?”

“Nothing.” She reached over and took his hand, squeezing. “We’ll find a way through this.”

Through their plan, certainly. They were survivors, the both of them. But Lucille didn’t know how she’d survive the memory of the Cushing girl’s blue eyes gazing at her with such wonder, such hope.

She pressed her cheek against the leather and watched the city fly by.

 

She was alone when she woke the next morning, but a note was left at the foot of the bed. 

_Went to finish up at Cushing’s. Will be back this afternoon._

_\- T_

In her sleep-fuddled brain, she recalled dimly that Edith was still typing her manuscript there. She half-smiled, imagining what it would be like were they to run into each other there.

When she swung over the side of the bed, her bare feet touched silk. She’d left her dress in a crumpled mess on the floor. Shouldn’t have done that. There would be no time to have it cared for today.

A memory flashed up suddenly. Of golden hair in her hands, as smooth as water spilling through her fingers. If she’d stepped forward, she could have held her in her arms. The thought sent a shiver through her.

The memories kept flooding back to her as she went into the bathroom and filled up the tub. Water gurgled over porcelain and slid over her limbs in a warm embrace. How beautiful she’d been. She couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t registered the fact until now. Perhaps it had been out of self-preservation. Don’t love the one you have to kill.

But Edith was not a victim now. She would not marry Thomas. She would have a life of her own. 

Edith. Even her name was beautiful. Like the sound of a feather traced over paper. 

Lucille rose dripping from her bath and reached, after a moment, for Thomas’ dressing gown. It was just a little too large for her. But it was warm and smelled faintly of his cologne.

A distant knock at the apartment door startled her. Wrapping her dressing gown more tightly around her, she went out into the sitting room and answered it. One of the maids stood outside.

“Begging your pardon, Miss,” she said. “There’s a letter for you that’s just arrived.”

Lucille took the creamy envelope from her. The moment the door closed again, Lucille leaned against it, still wearing nothing but her brother’s dressing gown, and examined the letter, addressed in a familiar hand. She’d seen pages and pages of it in the manuscript both she and Thomas had taken turns reading from. 

Shaking, she tore open the envelope, ignoring the paper that fluttered down to the floor like large snowflakes as she unfolded the letter enclosed. 

_Lucille,_

_You left just half an hour ago. I watched your carriage go from my window and I longed for it to turn back and for you to come to me. I hope your brother is not too hurt by my refusal. I hope that he understands the impossibility of what he asked of me._

_But you, Lucille. There are no words I can find that can quite explain my feelings. Until tonight, I never had reason to believe that you could ever reciprocate. Lucille, you at once fill me with curiosity and longing. When I most long to know you better, that is when you build more walls around yourself. And how I long for you. I find myself thinking of you at the most inopportune moments of the day. It’s as if you’ve fed me benevolent poison._

_But listen. I’ll be at my father’s offices all tomorrow. If you can, please come and see me. If I do not speak to you again, I think I will regret it forever._

_Yours,_

_E.C._

Lucille stared in shock at the letter in her hands. She didn’t know what she’d expected -- a denial of yesterday evening, perhaps -- but this… Still trembling, she went back through the letter and found every occurrence of her name, traced in loops and flourishes.

Self-control. She fought to bring herself back to her senses. She had to pack, and there were still some affairs she had to tie up. But that would only take until noon. And then she could go to Cushing’s and…

Her heart skipped several beats at the prospect of seeing her again. 

In the end, she placed the letter on the desk, where she could see it while dealing with all her other concerns. With the aid of several servants, packing only took a few hours. And finally, by early afternoon, Lucille had donned her satin walking dress and, adjusting a hat pin as she walked, left the apartment. At last.

 

The usual swarm of traffic greeted her as she approached Cushing’s offices. Quickly stepping aside to avoid a group of suits all speaking loudly and self-importantly, she ducked inside, squinting to adjust. The interior seemed dark after the brightness of the streets outside.

“Excuse me,” she asked a nearby gentleman with a fob watch in hand, “but could you tell me where Miss Cushing is?”

“Certainly. Just through there.” He pointed around the corner and Lucille thanked him distractedly. 

Sure enough, the sound of a rattling typewriter greeted her as she rounded the corner. A blonde woman was facing away from her, hard at work with a stack of paper before her. Edith. She reached up and tucked an unruly strand of hair behind her ear as Lucille tentatively approached her. The rattling went on. Lucille coughed softly and immediately Edith turned, the light reflecting off her spectacles. She took them off, folding them and putting them in her breast pocket. 

“Lucille,” she murmured. 

“You asked me to come.” She smiled tightly. “So here I am.” A pause. “May I sit down?”

“Oh -- of course.”

Lucille pulled over a chair from one of the other desks and sat, tucking her skirts beneath her neatly. Reaching up, she removed her hat pins and then her hat, putting them on the desk. 

“You know, it’s funny,” said Edith, looking back at her manuscript. “I wrote that letter meaning every word. Now that you’re here, I hardly know what to say.”

“I’m sorry that I ran away last night,” Lucille said. “I was overwhelmed.”

“So was I.” Edith was silent for a moment and then laughed a little helplessly. “Our timing couldn’t be worse, could it?”

“I wish I had longer here,” Lucille said and was surprised by how deeply she meant it. “Now that I know that --”

She was startled as Edith took her hand. 

“It’s all happened so fast,” she murmured. “But even so I think that I am perhaps a little in love with you.”

The words hit Lucille like a gun shell. Her lips parted as she stared at Edith, vision blurring so that the girl before her wavered. 

“You would not be if you knew me.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Edith said and caught her jaw in her small hand. Lucille felt a flash of panic -- they were in the open, anyone could see them -- but then she was bringing her so close that she could feel her breath on her face, and their lips just touched --

“Yes, I’ll try to talk to Vanderbilt tonight, but he’s almost impossible to get on weekdays…”

Edith pulled away suddenly as a roar of male voices approached. A crowd of suits had come from one of the conference rooms and was now gathering around one of the desks, examining some kind of building plan. Cushing himself was in the lead. 

“Come on,” Edith whispered. She stood, taking Lucille’s hand, and they walked away from the desk, leaving the manuscript and her hat behind. They turned corners, footsteps sounding in quick succession on well-polished floorboards, until they reached a deserted part of the office. Nothing in sight except for a pair of stairs that led to the basement. And then Edith turned around, wrapped her arms around Lucille’s neck, and brought their lips together. 

Long. Deep. The kiss broke and immediately Lucille dove in for another, her hands at the small of Edith’s back. Her lips were warm, soft, and she felt as though the touch of them was as addictive as the taste of wine. And yet…

“You don’t know me, Edith,” she murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “You would be horrified if you knew who I am.”

“Hush,” Edith whispered, her fingers spreading wide at the back of her neck as she kissed her again and again, mouths flying from lips to chins to jaws… A clerk passed by, and they stepped apart, breathing hard. But Edith pulled her close again as soon as he was gone, their lips melting together. Over and over. Repetitive motion, such that Lucille’s lips throbbed with the sensation as Edith drew her closer, flush against herself. 

“Listen,” the girl breathed, cupping Lucille’s cheek to make up for the sudden loss of touch. “Listen. My father works late tonight. If you can…” she paused. “If you can, please come to me.” Her eyes were dark, with little traces of blue left in them. Lucille could see her own reflection in her pupils. Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought of what Edith was suggesting.

“I -- I will have to return to the hotel -- leave a note for my brother,” she murmured.

“But you will come?” 

“Of course.” Heat rose to her cheeks, mirroring Edith’s own blush. “Of course I will.” In answer, Edith seized the black lapel of her walking dress and pulled her down for a hungry kiss. Part of her was shocked by Edith’s boldness, to kiss her so close to discovery and to her father. She tried to imagine if their places were reversed, if Edith had found her in that cold, cold country in England. If her parents had discovered them --

It would have ended the same way. She killed for those she loved. No matter what the circumstances, she would have blood on her hands. She did not deserve to touch Edith. When the bloodied, twisted, and broken meet all that is perfect and whole and innocent, what kept the earth from cracking open in protest? 

How she pulled at her lower lip.

“Edith!” 

They were both startled by her father’s call. Quickly, Edith pulled away and, laying her hands on her cheeks to cool her blush, rounded the corners to find Cushing waiting.

“I’m sorry, Father. I was distracted.” Lucille had to admire her; she did not look back at her once. Cushing did, however. 

“Miss Sharpe. I wasn’t aware you were here.”

“Miss Cushing invited me to help her with her manuscript.” The lie -- if a lie it was -- came easily.

“I see. In any case, Edith, I’m afraid we have need of the typewriter.”

“Yes, Father.” Edith crossed to her desk and began collecting her papers. Her hands trembled a little, and even despite her earlier smoothness, she seemed flustered. 

“Let me help you.”

Edith gave her a gratified look as Lucille joined her, handing her the various stacks of papers spread around the desk. 

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“I’ll come at six,” Lucille said in an undertone, so softly she herself had to strain to hear. 

“I’ll be waiting.”

Their hands brushed in the exchange of paper and Lucille felt a thrill of longing run through her. A flash of smiles, a handshake made awkward with all the weight in Edith’s hands --

“Lucille?”

She turned to see her brother descending the stairs, his leather briefcase under one arm. She smiled, trying to ignore the sudden feelings of guilt rising within her. 

“Thomas.”

“I didn’t know you’d stopped by,” he said, coming to meet her. 

“I came on invitation,” she said. “I was just leaving.”

“Then shall we take a cab together? I’ve just finished here.”

She smiled and took his arm, allowing him to escort her to the door. She didn’t get a chance to see Edith’s face, but she could feel the girl’s gaze on her, following her into the street and into the cab.

 

“Did Edith invite you?”

Thomas fixed her with a questioning gaze from where he sat across from her in the cab. Lucille nodded and looked away.

“What are you not telling me?” he asked. In answer, she reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently. She didn’t mean to keep a secret from him. But this felt so private… she couldn’t tell him about this. Not until after they were across the Atlantic and Edith was far away. The thought made her ache.

Not enough time.

She would have to make time.

 

They took dinner at their hotel that evening, neither of them feeling ready for beginning their long journey back to England tomorrow. 

“I suppose we’ll have to look somewhere else,” Thomas said dismally. Lucille watched the flames in the stone fireplace, savoring the radiation of its heat on her skin. 

“We’ll find a way,” she said. She turned to him and pressed her lips to his forehead. “I won’t let anything happen to us. We’ll be alright.” Silence. “I have to go out for a little while.”

“Where to?” He sounded tired,  his words lacking their usual spark.

“I have a few final calls to make.” The lie tasted like iron in her mouth. “I’ll be back later tonight.”

He nodded.

“I think I’ll turn in,” he said. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

He kissed her and then left the room. She was alone. Glanced at the clock. Nearly seven. Taking a deep breath, she stood and went to find her hat.

 

It seemed as though traffic had grown even thicker. Lucille sat in her cab and tried not to bite her nails. Suppose Edith had been wrong and her father did come home early? Or what if she was delayed so long that Edith gave up and locked her door for the night?

The cab finally lurched into motion and in two minutes Lucille was standing outside the Cushing home, the windows reflecting the orange-yellow light of the street lamps. 

A maid answered her knock.

“Miss Sharpe? My mistress is expecting you.”

Lucille allowed herself to be led through the hallways into the parlor from the previous night. Edith was reclined in the same chaise as before, engrossed in a book. 

“Miss Sharpe, ma’am.”

At the sound of her maid’s voice, Edith started and stood, dropping the book on the couch. Lucille was barely even aware of the maid taking her hat, or her retreating footsteps. She stood dumbly, taking her in.

At long last, Edith took action.

“Sit down?”

Lucille did, beside her on the chaise, their knees brushing through layers of fabric as they angled towards each other. 

“This is mad,” she said at last. “All this will do is hurt us.”

“Write to me,” said Edith, apropos of nothing really. “If nothing else. And if my father’s ventures ever take him overseas, I’ll come along. I’ll find you…”

Lucille balked at the thought. No. Edith could never see her in her home. There was too much of herself in it. If Edith saw the conditions in which she lived, then she might guess at the truth of who she was. And then the spell would be broken.

“Lucille?”

“Kiss me again,” was all she could find in herself to say, and Edith obeyed, a hand at the back of her head. It was all too easy to melt beneath her ministrations. She was pressed against the back of the chaise, Edith’s lips fluttering behind the lobe of her ear and down the vein of her neck. Her arms wrapped around the smaller girl, pressing closer as if trying to render them into a single person.

They pulled apart at last, long enough to look at each other. Hair was slipping from Edith’s coiffure and her cheeks were flushed pink, breasts heaving.

_How strange_ , Lucille thought. _I could have killed this._

“What is it?” Edith asked. “You have the strangest look in your eyes.”

“It’s nothing,” Lucille said. “Please.” She found Edith’s fingers, twining them with her own. _Don’t think of death; it unnerves her._

“Do you…” Edith hesitated, selecting her words with care, “want to come upstairs?” Lucille gazed at her, half in shock and half in anticipation. 

“I believe I would,” she said, just as tentatively. 

“Alright.”

The word was a breath, and then Edith laughed in a manner that sounded almost nervous. They kissed each other again, quickly as Edith stood, allowing Lucille room enough to follow. Joining hands, they looked at each other in giddy anticipation. And then they were climbing the staircase to Edith’s bedroom, footsteps quick. Lucille tried to stifle a giggle but was unsuccessful. Edith was positively glowing when they reached her bedroom and the door shut behind them. They faced each other, and Lucille could hear her heart hammering in her chest. 

“Have you done this before?” Edith asked and suddenly the positive energy Lucille had felt died. If she said yes, Edith might ask when and with whom. And she would not want to hear that Lucille’s first time with a woman had been in a mental asylum, with a girl who had bit off an attendant’s thumb. She shook her head. 

“Here.”

Edith’s hands went to the buttons of her frock and Lucille caught her breath as cool air slowly slipped across her skin. A strange feeling was creeping over her, exhilarating and filled with adrenaline. Like levity, but not quite. Somehow Edith’s own gown had come loose and hung now around her elbows; she pushed herself free of the sleeves with an impatient movement and the frock slid to the carpet. Lucille held her at arm's-length for a moment, wanting to take in her shape: soft, creamy flesh beneath linen underclothes. Lucille let her dress fall to join Edith’s there on the floor and caught her jaw in her hand, kissing her deeply. Her hair was soft. 

They broke apart and immediately Edith was pressing her hands against her corset to release the hooks. Lucille copied her and they lay them both over Edith’s armchair, and then impatiently unlaced their own shoes. Straightening up, Lucille took her in once more. She seemed incapable of doing anything but stare and touch and wonder… the shape of Edith’s breasts was clearly defined beneath her chemise and, without another thought, Lucille lowered head and kissed each curve through the linen. She felt Edith’s intake of breath against her mouth…

And they were on the bed amid Edith’s pillows and soft blankets, and this same girl whose body would have been sunk into a vat of scarlet clay gazed into her eyes, hooking her fingers around the waist of Lucille’s knickers. And it was mad, the way Lucille simply allowed her to press her into the bed and remove the final layers between them. Now there was nothing to hide behind, no possible way to pretend modesty. Madness. Lucille never allows anyone to take control of her. She is afraid of subservience. Too often she has felt trapped by memories of her own helplessness -- when the laudanum needle was the gateway to God-only-knew-what , and earlier still, when she cowered in fear of her father’s friends. 

But here, in this girlish bedroom so far from home, she was discovering a strange freedom in letting go, in lying back and spreading her legs. Finding it right there, in Edith’s blue eyes.

They looked at each other again, shivering in the chilly air, but Edith’s lips curved into a smile as her eyes ran over her. Lucille flushed deeply in spite of herself -- suddenly feeling inadequate to her to doll-like perfection. How could she possibly like what she saw? 

“Are you alright?” she asked. Lucille nodded, trying to bring her mind back under her control. She felt a soft hand on the inside of her left thigh. “Here. Let me make you smile.”

 

“Come up.”

It was the first they’d spoken in a while. Lucille obeyed, the bedclothes clinging damply to her. Edith sucked on her fingers to clean them before unpinning Lucille’s tousled hair. She did the same for herself, laying the pins on her bedside table. Then they lay back together, entwining limbs. The time on the grandfather clock in the corner read eight-forty-three. 

“Must you really go back to England?” Edith murmured. “Is it so important?”

“It’s my home, Edith,” she said, running a finger across the girl’s collarbone. “But I wish I could stay longer.”

“I don’t want to lose you…”

“I know, darling. But…”

But what? But it’s better this way? Better that she didn’t see who she really was? Edith loved a facade, an idealized version of Lucille. Someone, perhaps, she could have been in another life. 

“Lucille?”

“Yes?”

Edith propped herself up on one elbow, hair spilling back over the pillow. 

“Let me marry Thomas.”

Lucille’s breath caught; she didn’t know what to say.

“Edith?”

“If I marry him, we don’t have to lose each other.” Her hand found Lucille’s, fingers entangling. “We wouldn’t have to part.”

For a long minute, Lucille is terribly tempted to agree. The thought of it -- Edith living with her, brightening every room with her presence, writing in the library, listening to her at the piano, kissing her amid the snow before it melted and left the moor with its bloody stain…

“Lucille?”

“It -- it wouldn’t be fair to Thomas,” she said at last, finding her iron will. “He loves you, Edith. It would hurt him if you married him with… ulterior motives.” The irony of what she said was not lost on her. Hypocrites, the both of them. 

“You’re right,” Edith admitted, after a long look at her. She fell back against the pillows, and Lucille wrapped her arms around her in a hollow attempt to comfort her. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll miss you so badly,” she added, and there was a quality to her voice that told her she was on verge of tears. 

“Shh. You’ll forget me.”

She looked over her shoulder at her. 

“I could never forget you.”

 

She held Edith until she slept, stroking her hair to soothe her. Looking down at her as she dreamed, she looked like one of the specimens in Lucille’s butterfly collection at home. That’s what she’d intended her to be. But a trick of fate and this instead…

Carefully, she disentangled herself and, moving slowly so as not to wake her, collected her clothes. She dressed with all the speed she could and clumsily repinned her hair. Then hesitated. Edith was a writer and a romantic. Casting around the bedchamber, she finally found a delicate pair of scissors in her dresser drawer. With a wary look at the bed, where Edith slept on, she snipped a small lock of dark hair and left it by the pillow. She’d like that.

_Perhaps I should leave a note._

But that would make it more painful. Better to leave silently and without words, like this. Edith lay there, curled like a cat on her bed. She hesitated and then, after some deliberation, bent down and kissed her hair softly.

And then she left and hailed a cab. Why did life insist on cheating her of the things she wanted? 

 

When she reached the hotel room, the gas lamps were still lit. Cautiously, she turned the corner to Thomas’ bedroom and knocked softly on the open. What if he’d had a nightmare and she hadn’t been there? Oh, why had she ever gone away?

“Thomas?

Her brother was seated on the bed in his nightshirt, staring down at a piece of stationery in his hands. In a sick, cold moment, she recognized it as Edith’s letter.

Thomas’ eyes flicked up to hers. He didn’t look afraid, or angry. Just sad. Guilt coming over her in full force now, Lucille wondered if it would be better to just leave him to his ruminations. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said at last. And Lucille could suddenly no longer hold back her tears. She fell into his arms with a sob, letting him hold her and stroke her hair.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you -- I didn’t mean for it to go like this --”

“Hush. It’s alright.”

They stayed that way for a long time, sitting pressed close, Thomas’ arm around her as she shed all the tears she’d been holding back.

 

Morning dawned cold and pale. They’d sent the luggage ahead. Now she and Thomas walked arm-and-arm to the dock, taking in their last sights of Buffalo. It was still a little dark and Lucille felt as though they were sneaking from the city like criminals. Which they were. Twice, she saw a blonde-haired girl and mistook her for Edith. She clung hard to Thomas’ arm. 

But there was nothing and no one. The sea air was strong in Lucille’s nose as she mounted the ramp of the boat. 

“Wait! Lucille!”

There wasn’t much of a crowd yet, so only a few onlookers turned heads as Edith Cushing ran towards them, brown skirts hiked well above what was appropriate. She stopped at the edge of the dock, gazing up at them. Lucille looked to Thomas, who gave her a tight smile.

“Go on. I’ll get us installed.”

“Thank you.”

He left quickly as Lucille carefully made her way down the ramp again. 

“Edith, what are you doing --”

“You forgot your hat,” she said and held out her familiar gray one. Lucille stared at it numbly. She hadn’t realized she’d left bareheaded last night. 

“Thank you,” she said. Edith stepped closer.

“Please write to me,” she said and nodded to the hat. Confused, Lucille peered into it and discovered a slip of paper hidden in the brim. Edith’s address was written on it in a familiar hand. She longed to say no, to find some excuse so she didn’t have to prolong this torture… but she couldn’t find it within herself. Not when Edith looked at her with those eyes. 

The kiss was impulsive, but Edith didn’t recoil. In fact, she pulled her closer, ignoring whatever passers-by were thinking. Edith wrapped her arms around her, pressing her cheek against hers. 

“I will,” Lucille whispered. 

“Goodbye,” Edith said, pulling back to take her in one last time. 

“Goodbye.” Lucille looked up at the ship to see Thomas waiting for her on the deck. He nodded to her, his expression tender. “I have to go.” She pressed Edith’s hand to her lips. “Take care.”

“You as well.”

And so she left her, walking back up the ramp without a backward glance. Backward glances would only hurt her. And Lucille wanted no more pain. Thomas wrapped an arm around her, taking her wordlessly into their cabin. He knew intuitively that she would want time away from the eye of others. 

Sitting on her bunk as Thomas ascertained that all their luggage had arrived, she tried to imagine what Edith’s life would be. Helping her father. Writing novels. Perhaps she would meet a woman who could love her without fear of guilt or the violence contained within herself. She would be happy this way. And Lucille was meant to to sail back home, to cocoon herself and her brother in their prison. This was the only way. The only safe way for Edith, who was too innocent to ever know what they were. This the only way that would not hurt Thomas. Yes. 

She stared down at the slip of paper with Edith’s address.

Some butterflies were meant to fly on.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @williamshakennotstirred if you want to chat!


End file.
